


This Town is Full of Monsters

by VioletMind



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Danish Folklore, F/M, Horror, Lowkey Scooby Doo, Monsters, No One Believes Hvitserk Until It's Almost Too Late, Romance, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Horror with Subplots of Fluff, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-01-17 07:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12360387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletMind/pseuds/VioletMind
Summary: Nothing is at it seems anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Planned this out on a whim when I got the idea for a Scooby Doo-esque AU, and now look at what happened.

The party is held the first day of autumn, every year, without fail. It doesn’t matter if there are classes the next day or if there’s not; all that matters is that a fire is lit in the woods for the entire night. There’s superstition lurking in it somewhere, but all anyone seems to care about is getting drunk and forgetting their worries for a night instead of getting answers. Rumours will swirl around campus like malevolent spirits to satisfy the more curious newcomers in the weeks leading up to it, hanging in the air and making the hairs on the backs of their necks stand up. The bonfire may be time honored tradition, but so is scaring the freshmen.

The president of the most popular fraternity on campus is always the flame bearer. He’ll start the celebration by dropping a lit match into the pyramid of gasoline-doused wood at sunset amidst cheers and hollers, ringing in the new season with smoke and ash. It’ll be his job to stay sober enough to smother the flames in the morning before the first class.

It’s past midnight when the freshman decides to leave, having had his fill of drinking and making out with random strangers. The tradition is still new to him and he’s worried about making it to his class on time, only seven hours away. The alcohol in his system and the woodsmoke clinging to his clothes make his mind fuzz and go soft at the edges. It makes taking a shortcut through the woods sound like a good idea.

Dutch courage is alive and well as he stumbles off into the shadows, not taking into account how dark the woods could get away from the crowd and how easy it is to get lost among the trees.

He’s thirty feet from the fire when his foot catches on an exposed root and he trips, cursing loudly when he scrapes his palms trying to break his fall. He starts to struggle to his feet, the cheap vodka in his belly making him slow and clumsy.

He hears it then, the hoarse croaking sound that called to mind something like a crow, but he shakes it off and gets to his feet at last. He still thinks he’s ten minutes from his dorm at most, and tries to forget the unease that flared in his chest at the noise. He blames it on the stories he was told about the party and an overactive imagination.

He tries to speed up his pace, tries pick his way more carefully and avoid any more falls. His palms are bleeding more than he realized, drunkenness numbing the sting away and it’s too dark for him to see the blood running down his fingers.

It wouldn’t matter if he did; the things stalking him already had him in their sights. The blood only served to make them more excited. They slip through the shadows all too easily for creatures that large, beady eyes reflecting what little light the moon is putting off and their mouths open in anticipation. If only the freshman would look behind him.

He keeps going. The only sounds now are the crunch of leaves under his shoes, the sound of his own panting breaths. The safety of the bonfire, of the light and the noise and crowd, are little more than a distant memory. He finally begins to realize that maybe this was a bad idea, dimly recognizing that he should have been in his dorm by now. He considers turning back, wondering just how far he was from the party. He feels a prickling along his back and decides against it, hopes it’s just his imagination. He’s forgetting how many acres the woods span, forgets that here he won’t find a road he can follow back to campus grounds.

The things hunting him keep slinking forward, croaking to one another as drool glistens on their fangs. Talons knock against roots and stones now, no longer carefully picked up. They’re getting impatient, watching eagerly as the freshman picks up into a stumbling run in front of them. They give him what might be only ten second head start before they can’t hold themselves back anymore, tearing through the forest with a chorus of strangled howls. They try to sabotage one another as they run; snapping at ankles and faces and pushing against each other as they each vied to be the first to get a taste.

The infighting spares the boy another few seconds before one launches itself forward, talons burying themselves in the meat of his sides, its sharp teeth closing around his neck and puncturing his windpipe the same moment he tried to scream. It crunches down harder as the other two prowl around it, eyeing the kill hungrily. They snarl and snap at the body, tearing off strips of flesh behind the other’s back.

It’s far too busy biting chunks off the freshman’s torso, swallowing them whole, and going back for more. It swallows his liver and pushes its muzzle underneath his exposed ribcage in a parody of a vulture scavenging, teeth snapping until it snagged on the organ it wanted.

The heart is still beating faintly as it’s torn from the freshman’s chest; everything happened too fast for him to die before they started feasting. It gulps it down before one of the others can steal it, joining them in ripping the body apart in earnest now that the prize was won.

One body for the three of them doesn’t last long, each of them trying to eat their fill before the others could.

What’s left is barely better than bones.

~

By the time you manage to drag yourself out of your dorm your headache has faded to a dull throbbing behind your eyes and your cottonmouth is a little more bearable than it was. Normally you drink enough to warrant a hangover, but last night had been special.

That being said, the Lothbroks were partially to blame for the state you’re in as you trudge towards your first class of the day.

Unspoken kings of the campus they were, they had brought the good booze in a rare act of charity, taking pity you supposed on the less fortunate of the student population. Instead of the usual vodka that stung your throat and made you cough, you’d spent the night sipping on honeyed wine that was all too easy to keep gulping down.

You squint against the bright lights of the classroom as you slip inside and take your usual seat, envying your roommate who at this very moment is sound asleep, not having a class until noon.

You rest your head against your desk as other students trickle in after you, the cool wood pressing against your forehead making you feel somewhat better. If this was any other class you wouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed, but, somehow, it had become one of your favorites.

You had chosen it on a whim, thinking it sounded interesting and would prove to be a nice distraction from your more science heavy courses. Politics had never been a favorite of yours, but that apparently didn’t apply to political philosophy.

Something bangs into your desk just as you’re about to fall back asleep, startling you enough that you whip your head up and around. The sudden movement makes you sick to your stomach but you glare at the culprit all the same, your eyes narrowing when you see the all too familiar smirk.

Ivar Lothbrok. Just what you needed this early.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” He croons softly, and if it wasn’t for the distinctly mocking twist of his lips you might actually think him hitting your desk with a crutch was an accident.

He snickers to himself when you only huff and lay your head back down, folding his body into the desk behind you and leaning his crutches against the side.

Out of your seven classes he’s only in two of them, which could be a blessing you suppose; if they weren’t on the same day and only a couple hours apart. The two of you were hardly civil to one another, but that’s to be expected when you’re the academic rival of an asshole.

Your university is prestigious enough that you only got here one of two ways -three if you count sheer luck; either you worked your ass off to get the grades worthy of a scholarship, or you had a pedigree.

You’re one of the former despite your mid-week hangover, and Ivar is the latter. With the chief of police as a father and one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the area for a mother, the Lothbrok brothers are the golden boys of the campus. At least as far as administration is concerned.

You fold an arm underneath your head when the professor walks in, resting your cheek on your elbow and flipping open your notebook with your free hand. Heaving a sigh you begin to dutifully write your notes as the lecture begins, your sloppy cursive filling the page in no time at all.

Ivar’s only half paying attention to what the professor is saying. Instead he’s staring at the back of your head, at the way your hair falls over your shoulder and the way you’re readjusting your head or your arm every few seconds. His mind is going back to last night against his better judgement, the professor’s voice fading into a drone.

~

He had been hanging around the edges of the gathering, slight annoyance already worming its way into him as he stood there. Hvitserk and Sigurd were in high spirits like always when it came to this kind of thing, both of them acting like eager puppies as they unloaded the crates of alcohol from the back Hvitserk’s car.

It had been Hvitserk’s idea to bring the mead in the first place, and it hadn’t taken much convincing to get Sigurd on board. Ivar had only rolled his eyes at them and quipped about wasting so much of it on one party.

And then you kept coming over to get refills once the bottles were opened, laughing with red cheeks at something his brother had said to you as he sloshed more drink into your cup, and he started to think that maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea.

His eyes followed you around for longer than he would care to admit after the first couple of times you came over, watching as you danced with your friends around the bonfire. twisted and spun, arms above your head with one hand clutching your cup. The two of you might have been vying for the spot of top student, but he wasn’t blind.

Some tension leaked out of his shoulders when your laugh carried over, the sound ending on a squeal when your drink sloshed over the rim.

He had a healthy buzz going several hours later, the alcohol in his blood loosening him up enough that he was cracking smiles and chuckling every now and again. You had just caught his eyes again. It had to be the fourth or even fifth time that night, and instead of ducking away or ignoring him like you had been doing all night you shot him a bright grin.

He had heard something through the noise of the party after that, something strange and unfamiliar to him enough that he had felt a twinge in his spine, but it was quickly forgotten. He’d barely given it a second thought before he was laughing at the frat boy who had tripped over his own feet and faceplanted into the dirt.

~

He blinks as he returns to the present, the sound of shuffling around him having drawn him out of his thoughts. A glance at the clock tells him just how much time has passed and he scowls; the shuffling he heard is students packing up around him. He huffs quietly to himself, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary before sliding it into bag.

You flinch at the sharp sound but don’t look behind you, only double checking that you have all your things before you stand. You weave in between desks, trying to be careful, but it’s a wasted effort. Your hip smacks into the corner of a desk and you hiss, recoiling and almost bumping into the person behind you.

The tops of your ears burn at Ivar’s quiet snort, the sound coming from directly behind you. You press your lips into a line and recover quickly, uncomfortably aware of his presence behind you. You practically scurry out of the classroom to get away from him. You still had a headache and are in no mood for Ivar’s teasing.

By the time you walk into your second class you have your second cup of coffee clutched in one hand, courtesy of the cafeteria. It’s weak and bland, but it’s caffeine and you’re not complaining. A text from your roommate, Paulina, confirms she is in fact awake by now and is only faring a little better than you.

“Y/N!” Your smile grows as you hear the familiar voice, your eyes landing on the second oldest Lothbrok. While his brother might be a source of annoyance, you get along well with Hvitserk. It’s a good thing too; he hadn’t declared his major yet, instead only taking classes that interested him and ending up in three of yours.

“I was wondering if I would see you today.”

You scoff as he takes his usual spot at your side and pulls out a bag of chips. “Have a little faith, Hvitserk.” You weren’t surprised that he was here. In all the time you’ve known the food-loving Lothbrok, you had never seen him with a single hangover.

“And Paulina?” You hide a smirk. A side effect of the two of you being friends, he had met your roommate several times. You think he’s a little smitten with the language major.

“She’s been sleeping it off all morning.” Try as you might, you weren’t able to keep the jealousy in your voice. She still has an hour and a half until her first class of the day.

Hvitserk chuckles at your tone and you roll your eyes, though you aren’t able to keep up the act of being annoyed with him as the two of you keep talking.

You end up not paying attention to the class as much as you should, a common occurrence when Hvitserk is concerned. You wouldn’t say he’s the class clown, he just always seems to have a story to tell or a joke to crack. At least the two of you make plans to meet up later to study chemistry; both of you have a test next week and you don’t want to take a risk.

Everything is normal when Hvitserk walks out of the classroom, laughter hanging in the air and his stomach growling for something more substantial than chips. He starts off in the direction of Helga’s after bidding you goodbye, you wanting to check on your friend but most importantly wanting to take a nap and he doesn’t blame you.

He answers his phone with a grin when it starts to ring in his pocket. “Bjorn! To what do I owe pleasure?” He rarely gets calls from his older brother out of the blue, the blonde man usually busy with whatever it is that police officers do on a day to day basis.

What Bjorn says next makes Hvitserk stop in the middle of the sidewalk with his brows furrowing, thinking he couldn’t have heard him right. _“What?”_

“They’ve found a body in the woods, Hvitserk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely awful and just realized I never posted the second chapter of this, which I had written sometime in December??? 
> 
> P.S I'm finally getting over my writer's block which means there'll be more to come -hopefully- soon!

It doesn’t take long for the police to swarm campus, a plague of crisp-shirted locusts. The forest is cordoned off and the head of the university’s announcement is still ringing in your ears. His voice had been stiff and hollow, just as disbelieving as the students listening. _Students, I regret to inform you..._

They clump together in packs; the concept of safety in numbers driving even the lone wolves of the campus to stick together. If not for safety then for a distraction; you do not need to run faster than whatever is after you, only who is running with you. 

They said it was probably an animal attack, that the police investigation is just a formality to confirm what they already knew, but it’s enough to shake up most of the student population anyways. 

You and Paulina haven’t left each other’s side since it started and were now camped out in the common room of your dormitory, both of you too jumpy to want to be alone in your room. It seems everyone else who lives there had the same idea and you’ve never seen the modestly sized area so full. 

People are throwing their two cents in left and right, each new rumor more elaborate and gruesome than the last. You hope desperately that it’s only a random animal attack; but maybe it’s the horror movies you find yourself watching or those true crime books that seem to find their way into your hands, but something’s lingering on the edges of your mind that tells you that you should be afraid. 

“Here,” Hvitserk’s voice startles you, making you jump against your roommate -you were practically attached at the hip- before you remember that he had gone off in search of something to drink for you all. The two of you smile and gratefully take the drinks, murmuring your thanks and ignoring Ivar’s scoff to your left. 

Hvitserk had called his brother right after he hung up with Bjorn while doubling back and catching you before you were about to enter your dorm. Since then he has circled you protectively; his way of coping with the sudden news seeming to be making sure that his friends were okay and you aren’t going to complain. 

Ivar had found you all shortly after the call, spending the journey from one dormitory to the next cursing the entire situation. He hasn’t offered to get you anything like Hvitserk has or let you hug him for reassurance; instead he stands off to the side, glowering and making snarky comments when he overhears a theory he thinks is particularly stupid. 

He hasn’t gone more than five feet from you though and you feel his eyes on you more often than you don’t. 

A girl that lives on the same floor as you suddenly speaks up, feeling like she’s in a horror movie she didn’t audition for. “Hilde Morssun said she saw wolf tracks last week,” 

“They could’ve been from a big dog and you know it.” A boy you’ve never seen in this dorm bites back and the girl rolls her eyes. He has a point though; people like to take their dogs when they camp or hike the forest and dog tracks aren’t a rare sight, but she trusts Hilde. 

“She’s a wildlife biology major, I think she’d know wolf tracks when she sees them.” And all of a sudden several debates are launched at once; Hilde Morssun’s credibility, if there are even still wolves in the forest after the culling local hunters did years ago when one took a little girl who wandered too far from her campsite. And if there are wolves, would they risk coming so close to so many drunk college students armed with a bonfire and bad decisions? 

~

Bjorn feels ill. He has seen gruesome crime scenes before, has seen victims of animal attacks before, but he has never seen a body so clearly _eaten_. He regrets having breakfast and has to walk away from the body like so many other officers have had to do since they arrived, his stomach not nearly living up to his name. Not for the first time he pities the coroners. 

“We need to start questioning the students,” The lieutenant is standing a good ten feet from the body with his back to it; he has seen it once, he does not need to see it again. “Find everyone who was at the party last night and ask them if they saw or heard anything strange or out of the ordinary. Ask them if they’ve seen any predators in the area recently.” The bonfire is the worst kept secret in the city. It’s seen as just another wild college party and everyone and their mother ignores the cringe that bubbles up when they speak about it. 

The officers surrounding the older man nod and start for the campus, grateful to get away from the scene. Bjorn goes with them and they already know he will be the one to question his brothers. They do not ask if his father knows about the body or even cares that was found so close to the university that has and is housing so many of his sons. They already know the answer to that, too. The only answer they do not know for sure is how he stays chief of police. 

Three classrooms being taken over and turned into interrogation rooms are the first thing that happens. The police want statements, and they know it’s easier to get scared teenagers and early-twenty-somethings to talk by themselves than when they're surrounded by their friends. 

Sigurd is the first brother Bjorn calls into his room, and unlike the others he is not joined by another officer, at least not for now. They have always been careful around their chief’s sons, and they don’t want to step on toes by insisting the eldest follow protocol to ensure he doesn’t coerce answers out of his own brothers. 

The younger blonde is shaken up, on edge. He has charcoal smudges on his hands and in his hair from running his fingers through it too many times to count since the news broke. He was at the party last night like most everyone, but he can’t remember anything aside from the taste of alcohol on his tongue and music in his ears. Waking up in a room that wasn’t his own with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and a headache pounding in his temples. 

“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?” Bjorn asks the question a second time just to be sure, but he knows Sigurd. He’s the softest out of all of them and out of all of them he will probably have the most trouble sleeping tonight. 

Sigurd shakes his head, guilt making his eyes go glassy. The body had been found less than one hundred feet from the bonfire itself, someone should have heard something. If he hadn’t gotten so drunk last night, maybe that someone would have been him and he could’ve gotten them help. 

Bjorn nods slowly, jotting down notes for the sake of it in a small notebook. “Tell Hvitserk it’s his turn.” 

Sigurd murmurs something that sounds like a yes and stands, feeling jumpier than before when the chair legs squeak against the floor. Before he could pretend it was all some kind of bad hangover dream, but the glare from the fluorescent lights bouncing off Bjorn’s badge made everything click horribly into place. 

His fingers shake as he pulls out his phone and hits the right buttons, not being able to deny that he’s walking faster than usual back to his dorm. Hvitserk picks up on the first ring and isn’t given a chance to speak before Sigurd is, his voice thin and fluttery. “Bjorn says you’re next,” 

“Right, thanks.” Hvitserk says, his own voice stilted. He slides his phone back into his pocket and takes a deep breath, looking from his brother to you and then finally to Paulina and back again. 

“I guess I’m up next,” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes but at least he’s trying. You and Paulina don’t have such death grips on your drinks anymore and have drifted inches apart, so he takes that to mean you both are starting to calm down a little and it makes him glad. 

He nods, moreso to himself than to any of you, before raising his eyebrows at Ivar in a way that makes the younger roll his eyes. After that he walks away to be interrogated his oldest brother. 

Ivar shifts on his crutches, watching you watch his brother out of the corner of his eye. He’s been in a bad mood since he woke up and it’s only getting worse. You being so upset about the whole thing isn’t helping, but at least the nervous energy has started to seep out of you. It’s been putting him on edge since he got here. 

He’s convinced that all this is is some sort of animal attack. Someone wandered too far in the wrong direction, maybe passed out in the wrong place. He thinks so many police for this is a waste and that it’s only scaring the other students; which is annoying him and he’ll tell that much to Bjorn when it’s his turn. 

For now he stays where he is, if for nothing else than to save himself from Hvitserk giving him grief about leaving you. 

~

Hvitserk has not seen his brother in nearly a month but he knows that the lines in his face and the set of his mouth is a new occurrence. He’s serious at the best of times, but now his brother is downright grim and it makes his insides go cold. 

“When I said we should see each other more, this isn’t what I meant,” Hvitserk tries his best to lighten the mood, falling back on comedy as a coping mechanism, but he can hear the desperate edge to his own voice. The one that’s pleading for this all to be some nightmare or an elaborate early April Fools joke. 

Bjorn’s lips thin into a tight smile, a short hum being the only acknowledgement to the admittedly poor attempt. “Was anyone acting odd- was there anyone missing? Or were there when they shouldn’t be?” He’s grasping at straws at this point, but he’s still trying to do his job. 

He watches as Hvitserk shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast but flitting around as he tries to remember _something_ that would be useful. “Everything was too loud- the music and everybody was laughing and drinking and I…” Hvitserk trails off, the defeated sigh leaving his mouth succeeding in making him seem smaller in the chair. “I don’t know. It was just a regular party,” He rubs at his eyes, wishes that the dull ache that’s been throbbing away in his head ever since Bjorn’s first call would go away. 

“It’s alright, Hvitserk,” Bjorn tries to comfort but his brother’s posture and attitude remain exactly the same and he knows he’s failed. “There was a lot going on.” A minute nod is his only response to that one. He sighs, deciding to quit while he’s behind. “Get Ivar.” 

~

Ivar is grinning as he sits down, propping his crutches against the table and leaning back in the chair with a mean twist of his lips. He thinks this is ridiculous, thinks that this is a waste of time for one single freshman. A freshman who had gotten drunk and and passed out or hit his head when he tripped, and the scavengers in the woods had taken advantage of the easy meal. 

Bjorn only shakes his head and flips to a fresh page; by now he is used to Ivar’s apparent lack of empathy. “Bjorn!” His brother greets, all mocking excitement and sharp white teeth. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Isn’t there real police work for you to do somewhere?” He bites the inside of his cheek but otherwise doesn’t react, too strained to deal with Ivar’s attitude right now. 

“Did you see anything? Hear anything?” He asks, hoping he won’t have to repeat himself. 

Ivar purses his lips, shrugs his shoulders, acts like he’s sifting through his alcohol soaked memories of last night. “Not a thing,” When he finishes speaking a sound echoes through his mind for a split second, fuzzy and fleeting. He doesn’t dwell a moment on it, thinking it must have been some nearby noise that simply carried through the walls. 

He notices the way his brother’s shoulders sag a millimeter in defeat and his lips quirk at the sight; the proud, justice-craving Bjorn stooping to investigating an animal attack. It was the best thing he’s heard all week. 

He answers the rest of the questions flippantly, truly not remembering anything significant about last night that wasn’t the way your hair shone in the light from the fire and how you cupped your hands to your mouth when you got a chill. He’s blaming those thoughts, and the itch he’s had since he left you, on his hangover. 

By the time they’re through Bjorn is frustrated, bordering on angry, that he hasn’t been able to pry a serious answer from his youngest sibling. He sends him away before he snaps, not a single word written in his notebook. 

~

Ubbe looks up from his plate as his brother takes a seat across from him, looking tired. It has been two days since the body was found in the woods and people are on the story like flies to honey, morbid fascination driving them into becoming armchair detectives and discussing theories over breakfast. 

Bjorn runs a hand over his face, shaking his head when Ubbe tips his plate towards him in a silent offer. He’s seen a lot in his career, but the evidence photos at his desk are still making him queasy. 

“I take it you have no leads?” Ubbe asks casually, waving the waitress over to pour his brother a cup of coffee. The diner they’re seated might as well be deserted at the late hour, but the journalist knows that it will be open until midnight. He comes at least once a week, sometimes days in a row, when being stuck in his office and sat at his computer isn’t working for him. The food is always hot and the coffee is fresh, and the waitresses know not to disturb him aside from refills once he gets to writing. 

Bjorn heaves a sigh and takes a gulp of coffee. “The autopsy is inconclusive. The most the coroner can tell is that the skull is fractured, most likely blunt force trauma from a fall, and that the marks on the bones show that scavengers made a meal out of him.” He remembers how the coroner was just as frustrated as he was, maybe even more, that the case is a mess of could bes and most likelys. The woman is a closet perfectionist who loathes loose ends; there’s nothing she hates more than inconclusive results and not being able to prove a cause of death. 

Ubbe hums once, eyes unfocused as he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and chews slowly. It is not the first time someone has been eaten in that forest, and it will not be the last. At least once a year someone goes missing; an amateur hiker or camper biting off more than they could chew. A tourist not expecting that they couldn’t find their way out again. Sometimes the bodies aren’t found for weeks, months. Sometimes there’s still bodies waiting to be dug up, nothing but bones. 

“And what do you think?” He asks after he swallows, leaning back against the seat and crossing his arms. Bjorn is resting his elbows on the table, tired eyes flickering as the gears turn in his head. 

“Do you remember the Blacks?” The question is slow, hanging in the air between them. 

Ubbe scoffs. Of course he remembers them. Ten years ago Harald and Halfdan Black terrorized the city for nearly a year and a half before they were finally caught, leaving an almost unprecedented amount of bodies behind. They were the most productive serial killers he had ever seen, and Ubbe had them to thank for putting his name on the map. When it all began he was nothing but a start up, fresh out of university and still bright eyed. His coverage of the whole thing was what made his career. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, brother, they’ve been in a maximum security prison for the past nine years.” 

Bjorn shakes his head in a way that makes Ubbe glad his mug is on the table instead of his hand, otherwise he might have dropped it. “They’ve escaped.” 

_“What?”_

Bjorn glances around, double checking that they are, in fact, alone in the diner. The only exceptions are the cook and the waitress, but they’re both chatting at the counter and out of earshot if he keeps his voice low. “They were being transferred to a Supermax-” 

_“Together?”_ One of the stipulations the prosecution rallied for -and got- during the trial was that the brothers were to kept separate at all times. 

Bjorn’s hackles raise and he gives his brother a cutting look, making it clear that he knows that it was a bad idea from the start, but he is only a police officer. If he had anything to say in how the Blacks were moved then they wouldn’t have this situation. 

“Together. They overpowered the guards and got out, the transport truck was found a little less than halfway to the prison.” 

Ubbe rubs his mouth, shaking his head. He can’t bring himself to pick up his fork again. “You’re telling me that the Blacks are free men and that you think they did this?” 

“It fits the timeline. Maybe the kid saw something he shouldn’t have,” 

“Fuck me,” The two words are harsh in Ubbe’s mouth and the darkness that surrounds the diner, broken only by the neon signs and street lights, seems a little darker now. He stares out the window, eyes searching for movement in the shadows before he knows he’s doing it, mind conjuring up very real boogeymen that could be lurking in the alleys and behind the trees. 

“We don’t have any leads on them; Ragnar’s going to make the announcement on Friday.” 

“People are going to panic.” 

“With Harald and Halfdan Black running around, maybe a little paranoia is good for them.”


End file.
